As I walked, a cacophony of sounds reached my ears. Sellers were hawking their products, loudly calling to anyone passing by. Children were screaming and darting between the legs of adults, who were amused and annoyed in turn. Chatter and laughter rang out all around me, blending into a comforting blur. I liked the anonymity. It was freeing to be not Lord de Louvois’s orphan or Lady Catherine’s disliked stepdaughter, but simply just another girl visiting the market.
“Fruit! Fresh fruit! Ripe strawberries! Delectable pears! The freshest fruit you’ll find outside the king’s gardens!”
The disembodied voice was faint and difficult to pinpoint over the din, but I was clearly moving in the right direction now, which was further confirmed when I started to see people with fruit in their baskets or cradled in their arms. I finally found myself in front of a wooden stand with a sign that read FRESH FRUIT scrawled in red paint.
“What can I get for you, mademoiselle?” the fruit seller asked, leaning over the counter and letting his belly rest on it.
“I need apples, pears, and grapes, please.”
“Indeed. How much of each do you want?”
“One pound of grapes, nine apples, and nine pears.”
The fruit seller turned around and began collecting the fruit from an array of baskets packed tightly into the confines of the stall. I slipped my hand into the secret pocket that Elodie had sewn into the side of my dress and pulled out the little bag of money Lady Catherine gave me, wincing at its lightness.
“Here are the grapes,” he said, unceremoniously dumping the clusters on the countertop before turning back around again and crouching down to get at the baskets.
While I waited for him to finish assembling my order, I peered into the shadowy interior of the stall. A particular fruit caught my eye, round and colored, a brilliant, eye-catching orange. An orange. He had oranges. For a moment, I was back in the Versailles’ Orangerie, exploring the galleries with Marius and Elodie, the thrill of adventure zinging through my blood. But nine apples tumbling across the counter after being dropped by the fruit seller shook me out of my reverie quickly, and I threw out my arms to stop them from rolling right off the counter onto the filthy ground.
“Sorry about that. Here are the pears.” He deposited the pears a touch more gently onto the counter. “That’ll be five livres.”
“Five?” I said, trying and failing to keep the shock from my voice. “Really? That seems a tad expensive.”
The fruit seller frowned at me and tutted under his breath. “These aren’t in season yet. I had to grow them in my own personal greenhouse. Do you know how much money it costs to do that? They’re five livres. Take it or leave it.”
My cheeks warmed as I played at riffling through the little bag, knowing full well that I didn’t have five livres left. Hopefully, I would still be able to bring something home to Lady Catherine.
“How much would”—I poured the remaining money into my hand—“one livre and, uh, twelve sol get me?”
“These,” he said, shoving one apple, a small bruised pear, and one bunch of grapes toward me.
“Oh. Well, I suppose—”
“I’ll pay for the mademoiselle’s order.”
I jumped at the intrusion and turned to see a young man standing next to me where none had been just a moment before. He was tall, over a head taller than I, with broad shoulders. He wore a nondescript brown cloak with the hood pulled down low over his face, so I could see nothing of his features. But through the gap in the cloak I caught the flash of golden buttons running down his justaucorps, catching the light and gleaming when he turned to slide a few livres across the counter toward the fruit seller. Golden buttons meant money. But why would a wealthy stranger in disguise be so generous? I pushed the coins back toward him.
“Oh no, Monsieur, I thank you for your offer, but I cannot accept. I’ll take whatever my one livre and change will buy me.”
I turned back to the fruit seller with what I hoped was a firm expression. There was something unsettling about this man. My trip to the market became taxing surprisingly fast. All I wanted was to get back to the château.
“Please, mademoiselle, I insist,” he said, sliding the money back across the counter.
The fruit seller swept the coins into his hands before I could stop him. How irritating. I didn’t appreciate this kind of arrogance. If I wanted help paying for my own purchase, I would ask for it. I didn’t need anyone to come to my rescue, noble or not.
“There’s a few extra here, Monsieur,” the seller said.
“Indeed. Would you be so kind as to throw in a few oranges for the lady?”
Oranges? A few? How could he possibly know that I was interested in the oranges? He might have been watching me for longer than I thought, but that still wouldn’t suggest that I had any interest in them. Unless he was a mind reader.
“You are very generous and kind, Monsieur, but I insist that I cannot accept. It’s too much, and I have no way to repay you.”
“Repayment isn’t necessary. Paying for your fruit is the least I can do,” the stranger said with a curious tone of voice.
The way he spoke made it seem like he knew something that I didn’t, and I didn’t like it. Not one bit. Unease sent goose bumps racing up and down my arms. Something about his voice was awfully familiar.
“The oranges,” said the fruit seller, placing three on the counter before pointedly staring at the growing crowd of customers behind us. “Thank you for your business, mademoiselle and Monsieur. Please come again.”
“I think that’s our cue to leave,” the strange young man whispered conspiratorially. “Until we meet again.”
He bowed and took his leave, disappearing into the crowd without a backward glance. I stared unabashedly at his retreating figure, as if the back of his cloak might reveal new information to me.
“Please come again,” the fruit seller said, much louder this time.
“I’m sorry.” I placed the pieces of fruit into my basket as quickly as I could and hurried away from the stall. What an odd day this had turned out to be. I wanted to put the stranger out of my mind, but I just couldn’t no matter how hard I tried. It felt like I knew him, or at least had seen him before. But whatever his true identity was, I hoped I never saw him again. Intrigue surrounding an arrogant young man I may or may not have met was something I didn’t need.
Chapter Thirteen
Elodie and Alexandre were just outside the kitchen doorway when I returned from the market, the clicking of my heels on the stone pathway not enough to alert them to my presence. Their heads were pressed closely together, foreheads nearly touching as they smiled and giggled. It was incredibly intimate, and I didn’t want to interrupt the moment. I stopped and loitered around the corner of the house, a tad awkwardly, my attention given to a sparrow chirping away in a tree.